A look at all things existential from Crime, Thriller Fiction in Novels, Films as well as Music and their link to reality

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

“And the thing about a shark is he’s got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll’s eyes.”

On the first day back at work; my memories of my days at sea as a
Chemical Surveyor and my adventures in the Arabian Gulf drifted back to me;
following a wonderful time in Ireland for New Year, traversing the Irish Sea.

I will share one memory from the 1980s, when I was stationed in the
Arabian Gulf where I worked as a Chemical Cargo Surveyor. There is no need to
read on, as life is short, and I am a bore. I only write down my anecdotes as
an aid to keep them from vanishing from my memory; and to help me examine and
understand who I have become, via the recollections of youth; as well as recording
the absurd aspects of my life.

Back in the 1980s, cargo ships would load bulk Palm Oils, Palm Fatty
Acids and Veg Oils from South East Asia [Singapore etc]; discharge their cargo
in Rotterdam, then tank cleaning en-route to Saudi Arabia where they would load
Methanol [and other industrial chemicals], and then sail to Japan; discharge;
then tank clean while en-route to Singapore, where they would load Palm Oils,
and come back to Rotterdam. And the supply-chain circle would continue, Far
East, Europe and Middle East.

Naturally mixing edible food items and chemicals for transit [with tank
cleaning between cargoes] was not cool, due to possible contamination of the
edible oils; but back in those days, road tankers did the same - edible oils, tank
clean, then chemicals etc. Now bulk tankers [be they sea or road] - are now dedicated
to food or chemicals, to prevent cross contamination risks.

It was a hard life, 6 weeks on with 3 weeks off, working as a Chemical Cargo
Surveyor in the Middle East; coping with the heat and erratic and long working
hours. I lost a lot of weight, during that time, so my overalls used to hang off my skin like a baggy jump suit, due to my weight loss.

Anyway; one time a Burmese ship arrived at Jubail port, KSA
[ex-Rotterdam] to load Celanese Grade Methanol. When I went on-board it was
obvious the crew had been on the Rum. Though the booze was now locked away, as
Saudi Customs Officials always boarded the ship to ensure all alcohol was
locked away. You didn’t need to be Uri Geller to ascertain that the Mariners
had been drinking, and I mean HARD drinking.

Once the vessel was berthed and ‘customs cleared’, I got to work
inspecting the cargo tanks.

The tanks were filthy, with the walls, the coils, pipes, hose-exchange all
smeared with the last cargo of PFAD [Palm Oil Fatty Acid Distillate]. It was
obvious the crew had been partying hard from Holland and didn’t tank clean. In
fact the chief officer was nowhere to be seen, so his XO was embarrassed as I
wrote a letter of protest, refusing to allow them to load the Saudi Methanol
cargo. The XO called the Captain who appeared calm, and told me to come back in
24 hours and he’ll have the tanks cleaned while berthed on the Jetty.

So the next day I returned, and immediately noticed that tanks hadn’t
been touched. The captain and crew had found the Chief Officer, who had locked
himself in a store room in the Engine Room; he was in a drunken stupor. He must
have stashed some of the Rum for himself while they were in port when they
entered Saudi waters. This was a No-No, as the penalty for drinking alcohol in
Saudi Arabia is severe.

Chatting to one of the deck-hands, I was advised that the vessel had
indeed discharged their Palm Oil / PFAD in Rotterdam; and one of the Burmese
crew had gone on shore while she unloaded, and returned with Marijuana and Hardcore
Porn VHS tapes. During the voyage to Jubail, KSA instead of tank cleaning in
readiness to load high grade [Celanese] Methanol, they smoked dope and drank
Rum, watching Dutch Porn movies on VHS.

Anyway, when I failed the ship again on my second tank inspection; I
issued another letter of protest [at the state of the tanks] which we always
sent to the ships owners, when there is any issue with the ship – and I added
that I didn’t feel the crew to be competent.

Within 36 hours a new crew were sent. I arrived the following day back
at the Port just as the old crew were escorted off the ship and to the airport.
The new Captain indicated that rather than waste more money staying on the
berth and incurring port fees, they would buy some Methanol for tank cleaning
and go off and tank clean off-shore; returning only when they thought they
would pass my inspection for loading.

Three days later we get a call from the port, and rather than risk a
rejection again [berthing fees etc]; the Ships Master would pay for an
inspector to go aboard the ship by pilot-boat, and inspect the tanks at sea. Then
subject to approval, the vessel would come back to the berth for loading. So
off I went with my equipment and testing gear to the port and joined the pilot
boat. Curiously, I recall at the time when I embarked onto the pilot boat, it
reminded me of ‘The Orca’, the fishing boat that Quint [as played by Robert
Shaw] Captained in Spielberg’s JAWS.

Now when an ocean-going bulk chemical tanker is empty at sea – it rides
high in the water, like a cork in a water-trough; revealing many notches on the
hull’s Plimsoll line. Without cargo as ballast, an unloaded ship does bob-up
and down with the sea currents; as ballast and cargo balances the buoyancy and
stability of the Vessel.

The sea that day was choppy with big swells. The pilot boat pulled alongside
the Burmese ship; the crew lowered a rope ladder over the bow; so slinging my
equipment over my shoulder I started up the rope-ladder like a pirate
clambering aboard, with trepidation as the ship bobbed up and down with the
heavy swells. I had barely reached the ladder, when the ship hit a really big swell,
and I went down under the waves. I held the rope ladder for dear life,
panicking. I held my breath clinging to the rope ladder, and tried to climb up
faster; but my billowing overalls were caught by the water currents, dragging
me back down to Davy Jones’ locker.

As I finally broke the surface I felt something pulling, jerking me back
into the water. I looked up and the crew were shouting at me, pointing below
me, and frantically gesticulating to me, to come up the ladder quicker. I felt
something sharp tug at my overalls, and scratch my buttocks. As I looked over
my shoulder, down at the waves below, I saw a small shark had its teeth embedded
on the bum of my overalls and was thrashing trying to pull me back into the
Ocean. As I looked down, I saw it staring at me, with dead eyes, like a dolls
eyes. I grabbed my bag of sampling and test equipment, and furiously hit the
shark hard repeatedly, feeling it tug at my blue overalls. I finally dropped my
gear onto its head hard like a hammer.

The shark fell back into the water below, with
a big splash, and then thrashed and attacked my sampling and test equipment
that I had used to defend myself.

I climbed back on the ship rather fast, and was yanked on-board by the
Burmese deckhands. As I stood on deck, I noticed I had a big tear in my overalls
with my arse hanging out, which was cut [but were really only a couple of
scratches]. The Ship’s Medic cleaned the scratches, and gave me a clean pair of
overalls. The Captain appeared and passed me a bottle of Rum, which I necked,
before handing it back, half empty. We were not moored in Saudi Arabia so the
booze cabinet had been unlocked.

Anyway, I soon discovered what had happened to attract the school of
sharks.

While the ship had anchored off-shore, and had been tank cleaning out in
the ocean; the cook’s assistant had been throwing the leftover food scraps from
the galley over the side of the ship [this is now barred under International
Maritime Organisation’s MARPOL regulations]. The food waste from the galley had
obviously attracted the sharks.

When I looked down over the side, I saw the fins in the water below and
thanked the God Poseidon that one of the bigger fuckers hadn’t taken a bite out
of my arse. I was also thankful to Poseidon for my weight-loss; as my baggy
overalls, flapping and billowing in the water had saved me, as the baby shark
had only scratched my skin, as the billowing overalls took most of the shark’s
bite, as its teeth tried to find my skin. I thought of the feature length Batman
TV film, when the same thing happened to the Dark Knight, except he was
climbing the rope ladder to a helicopter.

As I lost my sample and testing kit when I hit the shark’s head as it clung
to my blue overalls, I could only do a visual inspection on the vessel’s tanks,
but they appeared fine; so we soon sailed back to port, where we would load the
ship with Methanol.

The sailors gave me a guest cabin on the journey back to Port, which I
retained while I supervised the Methanol loading.

During the process, I spent time in my cabin once the Shore Pumps
started loading the cargo. I smiled as amongst the tatty paperbacks and VHS
tapes in the cabin; I found a copy of Spielberg’s JAWS [with Burmese subtitles]
as well as a copy of the Novel by Peter Benchley.

As I
looked out of the port-hole from my cabin [on the Starboard side] facing the
ocean; I thought of the Mariners on the
USS Indianapolis and the remarkable speech that writers Howard Sackler,Robert Shaw and John Milius came up with for JAWS, nailing Quint’s motivation for
battling the Great White Shark –

“Sometimes that shark
looks right at ya. Right into your eyes. And the thing about a shark is he’s
got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll’s eyes.”

Thankfully,
the shark that took a bite out of my overalls was a baby, unlike the one Quint
battled. Though it was the Shark’s Eyes that remain with me today, for they
were lifeless, black, like a doll’s eyes.

I
also recalled a favorite line from Stephen King, about how the arts help manage
the nightmare that is our reality from time to time; even if our recollections now
exist as mere fragments of memories from those days now passed.

“Lifeisn't asupport system for art. It's the other way around.”

Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

Read More Here
about the remarkable writing behind Quint’s monologue about what happened to
the mariners of the ill-fated USS Indianapolis, from
JAWS which remains one of the most memorable pieces of screen writing.

I think I exist, but have no proof except what I write here

Ali Karim - is Assistant Editor at Shots eZine, a contributing editor at January Magazine & The Rap Sheet and writes for Crimespree magazine, Deadly Pleasures and Mystery Readers International and is an associate member of The Crime Writers Association [CWA], International Thriller Writers [ITW] and the Private Eye Writers of America [PWA]. Karim contributed to ‘Dissecting Hannibal Lecter’ ed. Benjamin Szumskyj [McFarland Press] a critical examination of the works of Thomas Harris, as well as The Greenwood Encyclopedia of British Crime Fiction [ed. Barry Forshaw]. Karim has contributed to ITW 100 Thriller Novels due out in 2010.
Karim been three times nominated for a Anthony Award [2007, 2008 & 2009] as well as The Spinetingler Award in 2008 for special contributions to the Crime and Thriller genre.